


Paper Thin

by Anon_M



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, Paper thin, astrid s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:12:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8532568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon_M/pseuds/Anon_M
Summary: No secrets left here on the page, underneath my skin I see a change.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't proofread sorry.
> 
> This was inspired by the song Paper Thin by Astrid S.

"There are days when you don't really know.  
You can't tell if it's just the blue in their eyes or if it's the broadness in their chest.  
You don't know if it's the way Gaby tells you that they'll never reject you, not the way anyone else did.  
She would tell you, "Solo, just talk to him." But Illya isn't one you just....talk to.  
He's exquisite and expensive and oh-so pretty to look at. 

Sometimes you question how this partnership came to be. How you became Cowboy and Peril. Illya and Napoleon.  
How did this happen? How did you allow yourself to fall out of hate and into love? 

Then you realize you never really hated him, never not once, but you were jealous. You were so fucking jealous of everyone who'd ever loved him, touched him, heard his voice because there has never, ever, been something you wanted more.  
You were just to fucking dense to see it.

There days when you...you realize all these things and...and you think about it and you know that you don't deserve him.  
He's your partner and there's no way in hell you deserve him.  
Partners are supposed to be warm, and supportive, and helpful.  
And yeah...Illya is.  
Just in all the wrong ways.  
He's a hothead and he holds you up as you scramble over walls, and god, you hate this, but he's a better spy than you.  
He clenches his fists and speaks fast Russian.  
Those big hands helped you work through anger and sadness and tears. And so did those damned blue eyes. Those stone cold blue orbs that stare at you with every single bit of intensity that they can. 

But yet you still don't fucking deserve him." 

Illya was standing outside bathroom the door, listening to Napoleon talk.  
He was fully prepared to knock but hearing these words from his partner, he couldn't bring himself to do anything but stand outside.  
He stood outside, large frame quietly sagging under the weight of the world. Under the pressure that he had on his chest, wieghing him down, as though he would sink through the floor. 

"You hear your partner." Illya starts to say, breaking the silence.  
"You hear him tear himself apart when you never knew.  
Partners are trust and compromise and enjoyment.  
You don't deserve him.  
He's all of those things and them some.  
He's entertainment and hope and acceptance. He's secrets and that's okay, because he's changed. Ever since that first day when you went after him. He's changed, and you don't even know how to feel. He doesn't sleep around and make you feel like an afterthought.  
Gaby says that we're see through.  
There's no hiding now, Cowboy.  
Slowly you've been wearing me down, and I don't know how to deal with this.  
You don't have to come out.  
I'm not asking for you to come out here and talk to me about this, but I sure as hell hope you do." 

Napoleon eyes were shocked as he stared into the mirror, his dark hair falling into his eyes.  
This was...odd.

Illya didn't say things like this.  
Not a single time had he ever offered up something he felt. 

Yet, there he was, all hard body and blue eyes and shadows and angry trust, behind this fucking inch of wood. 

"I trust you." 

Napoleon hissed through the door, his heart clenching as he felt the mans heat through this door. 

"I trust you." 

And that's the best thing that either of them had heard. 

 

* • • 

 

Trust was hard to come by these days. 

Napoleon knew. 

Illya's trust was so hard, so difficult, to earn.  
This mutual understanding, this knowing look that Illya could give him, just after a mission. This kiss on his forehead right before he heads off to bed, because it's as if he can't sleep without it anymore. 

Gaby knew something was different. She felt the shift.  
Yet, really, who couldn't? 

These days, they stood outside together, out in the morning sun, watching it rise, and enjoying each other's company.  
This was a rarity for them. Usually they didn't tolerate each other more than they had too.  
But it was different now.

Even Waverly noticed. His two best agents, his two most valuable, were now just sipping coffee with each other at 5 in the morning because they wanted to.  
Not because the pretty vixen, Gaby, told them to play nice.  
For them, it really was nice. 

People could write millions of stories about these two, and no one would really get it right. No one would be able to capture the art in which they had changed. It was like A Starry Sky, but at midday.  
The sun was Illya's eyes and those thick swipes were Napoleons heart. So big and bright, shimmering with intense affection, and that heart that didn't speed up. It was a big and warm and it was something Illya loved.  
He loved that Napoleon was a theif but he wasn't greedy, not in the least. 

Everyone knew. They knew that sometimes Illya had nightmares and knew that he left his room in favor of Napoleons. They knew that on the way to missions they held hands in the back of the car. They knew that Gaby wouldn't say anything because this what she had been waiting for. 

 

They really were paper thin.


	2. There's More To Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We've all thought, 'there's more to life'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the song There's More to Life by Spies Like Us.

Things had been troublesome since the confession. Illya had brought on more fights, having come to Napoleons defense. He had been more bold, more brave, but that was due to his overprotectiveness of Solo. Unlike Gaby, who was now being irritated by the thief's attitude. 

Waverly hadn't ever been more disappointed in Illya, as when he shot one of their allies because they had insulted his partner. Illya was fiercely loyal, and loving. Yet, Napoleon allowed himself to flirt with women and men alike, casuing many distractions and sleepless nights for his Russian. 

Gaby knew that Napoleon adored and admired Illya, but the Russian was insecure. He would often go to train in hopes of getting more attention from the dark haired spy, yet to no avail. It was endlessly discoruging for him, to try so hard to get affection from one he called his, but still be second best. The Chop Shop girl saw his struggles, and his wants and needs, even if he himself would never voice them. Illya would never let Napoleon know that anything the man did caused him pain.  
Until one day, he did. 

 

"You're an awful person, you know that, Solo?' Gaby was seething in the bedroom of the dark haired man, Illya had been near tears was he left only moments ago, fleeing at the words, such aggressive words pointed in his direction.   
"Why is that?" Napoleon furrowed his brow, unknowingly infurating her further.   
A sharp snap filled the air, and he was stunned to feel the burn the of her hand on his cheek. 

"Did you not see how hurt he was? He loves you, and you don't even spare him a glance. You truly are insufferable."  
Napoleon had long time known that Illya loved him, for it was Napoleons own confession that lead to their current situation.   
"What did I say to upset you both so much?" Gaby reeled back, as if to strike him again, yet her wrist was caught. 

"Do not hit him, Gaby. He doesn't see it, and your hitting him will not make him do so." Illy'a warm soothing voice filled the room, pushing any doubt from Napoleons mind that he had done something terribly wrong. This tone of voice, it is the one he used when talked about his time in training or when he talked of the bad things that had happened in his life.   
Slowly, Napoleon wondering if he was becoming one of those things. 

Gaby backed down, now taking to the door, grabbing her coat and stomping out into the hall.   
"Peril, what's going on?" The Russian looked down, blue, crystal orbs stormy and sad. 

There was pauase as he took a deep breathe.   
"You told me once that it was okay to submit willingly, that it was okay to be happy. What good does that do when the single person you trust enough to give your submission to isn't as loyal?"

Napoleon realized, in that single moment where his mistake was. The anger and hurt and betrayal in his partner's eyes showed him ever wink he made, and ever hand he'd kissed and every fight that Illya had stared on his behalf. How had he not seen in prior? This man, the gorgeous tempered fool, was asking for his answer, and his dedication. 

"I try, Illya." He coughs slightly. "Commitment isn't my strong point."

"I know, and I don't think that's enough this time."

This time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This okay?

**Author's Note:**

> Did I do okay?


End file.
